Doubting Abbey (39 page)

‘Perhaps I could get the lawnmower?’ I said with a half-smile. Please let him smile back.

Instead, his brow furrowed. ‘I guess there are similarities to our situation and
Titanic
, in that the hero and heroine end up apart.’ He bit his lip. ‘It was one of my mother’s favourite films.’

‘Edward…We don’t need to split.’

‘Why? Who knows what secrets are in you, still untold?’

‘Everyone has secrets. They don’t necessarily have to be bad.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Look – there’s only one other thing I haven’t told you, that Charlie just reminded me of.’

He pursed his lips.

‘One night I went out to the pub— as myself. I met that Baron’s son, Harry. Little did I know, at the time, he must have been there to see Nick. Anyway, he asked me back to a party at the Castle. I thought it would be interesting to see what they were really like, compared to us.’

‘Have a good time, did you?’

‘Hardly. Parts of that Castle are like a fancy show house on some new estate – everything is recently bought and only there for effect. There’s no history, nothing much, ornament or furniture-wise, that dates back further than this Millennium. It’s…soulless.’ I shrugged. ‘Plus the Baron and Harry are right prats.’

‘Still, it must have been a fun night out, after experiencing my quiet life.’ Edward didn’t catch my eye.

‘No!’

He snorted.

‘Please, Edward, you’ve got to believe me.’

He shrugged.

‘I… I can kind of guess how you feel,’ I said. ‘Discovering that Nick wasn’t the person I thought came as a hell of a shock. And it was never easy for me, not for one second – keeping up the pretence and deceiving you,’ I said and felt my chin wobble. ‘In fact it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.’

His face softened for one second and uh oh, adrenaline rush, here we go… What was the point of more words? The only way forward was, in fact, for me to lean forward and…our lips met. Tingles ran up and down my spine and candy popped faster than any Spacedust as I felt his chest heave against mine.

‘Oh, Teddy,’ I mumbled, after eventually pulling away for breath.

‘The name’s Edward!’ Cheeks flushed, he wiped his mouth as if my kisses contained poison.

‘Is this really it,
Edward
? Doesn’t anything that’s happened between us count?’

A muscle in his cheek flickered. ‘Look, I get it – you’re not a monster, Gemma. But… I can’t understand how you agreed to this farce. You had the choice not to lie – not to pretend to be someone you weren’t. Whereas…’ He looked away. ‘Take the hint, Gemma – us, it’s over – you were… just a bit of fun.’

My voice cracked. ‘What about me being the soundtrack to your silent movie?’

‘That was just a corny chat-up line I’ve used before.’

My eyes tingled. Why couldn’t he see that my motivations had been well-intended and forgive me?

‘How charming—you fed me a line, like some drunken teenager out on the pull.’ I scrambled to my feet, a sob rising from my chest. ‘Well, fine! Your loss!’ Without glancing back, I power-walked down the hill.

LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

Thursday 13th September

11.55p.m.
The 13th isn’t supposed to be the luckiest of days, but it would seem to be fortunate for the interloper that is Gemma Goodwin. Having watched tonight’s programme and her interview, more people than ever have commented on this blog. The majority view seems to be that she is some kind of hero. It will be interesting to see what the newspapers say tomorrow.

On balance, I can see how some of her qualities might appeal to the average viewer. She stood by her friend and placed herself in a totally alien environment, in order to help. Yet that does little to dispel the discomfort I now feel when I hear her…her quirky voice, or see her infectious smile…

Knityourownmansion
, no doubt Gemma would appreciate the knitted medal you feel she deserves for her efforts over this last fortnight. If you send it here, I suppose Kathleen will forward it to the right address.

Lovehotnoble
, that’s very generous of you, but I don’t erm, think a tantric massage would relieve my stress.

Drunkwriter
, no, please don’t worry, I won’t turn to whisky just yet—which is just as well, as your tinned cat food hangover cure sounds quite disgusting. Honestly. I’m fine and have bigger things to concern me now than a young girl having her bit of fun by pretending to be my cousin.

In fact, anyone reading this, I implore you more than ever, please vote for Applebridge Hall. Despite this ridiculous charade that has come to light, family values and tradition still mean everything to us.

By the way,
Drunkwriter
and
Cupcakesrock
, I’m glad your relationship is going from strength to strength. And
EtonMess
, sympathies now that you are torn between fantasizing about the pretend Abigail Croxley or real Gemma Goodwin. For your emotional wellbeing, my advice would be to steer clear of both.

Chapter 29

Gemma’s a Genuine Lady!

Stately Star

Dare to Doubt Abbey!

Posh People’s Pin-up
!

I gazed out of the limo’s window. Saturday the fifteenth, the day of the final, had come around so quickly. I still couldn’t believe the newspaper headlines yesterday and today. Roxy reckoned the public really loved me. Apparently, kids thought I was the wackiest reality star yet. Fogies said that in these challenging times how inspiring it was to see a young person put a friend’s needs first. Plus, according to…what were they called…?
social commentators
…my close friendship with Abbey proved that, nowadays, accent and birth were irrelevant. Not that any of this made the slightest bit of difference to Edward, who barely spoke to me all day Friday. Not that he went out of his way to be unfriendly either. I even caught him looking at me a couple of times as if he wanted to talk.

Lunch was a couple of hours ago and now we were driving to Watermill Nook, an amazin’ hotel, according to Lady C, where, at seven o’clock, the final would take place. It was halfway between Applebridge Hall and Marwick Castle. For the first time, the two competing finalists would meet in person. Gaynor, Charlie and Roxy had left in the early hours to set up.

I looked around the limo. Edward and I sat opposite Lady C, the Earl and Mr Thompson. Jean and Kathleen were in the next row back. Lady C brushed some fluff off her silky peach dress. The Earl wore his trademark tweed suit and grumbled about not being able to smoke his pipe in the car. Edward looked as if he had under-dressed on purpose, in his checked shirt and cords. With serious eyes, he chatted over his shoulder to Mr Thompson about the recent overgrowth of weed in the pond. Jean and Kathleen marvelled at the luxury car and sipped their champagne. The Earl had insisted that the gardener, cook and estate manager accompany him to the live final. He said they’d done as much as anyone to give Applebridge Hall the chance of winning it deserved.

‘You look nice, Gemma,’ said Lady C softly.

I smiled back. ‘Thanks for helping me choose this dress – and doing my hair.’

We’d gone shopping yesterday, in town, and found an outfit more my style – not Abbey’s and not quite the old Gemma’s any more. The hem hovered just above my knee, instead of halfway up my thigh, and the neckline, whilst low, didn’t accentuate my cleavage, if you could call it that without the chicken fillets.

Yet it all felt right. Plus Lady C suggested I tried less outrageous false eyelashes. She also treated me to a subtle air-brush tan, which made me realize how my mahogany bronzer powder was more suited to polishing the Earl’s ancient furniture. And this morning she’d pinned up my hair, letting just a few curls dangle down— not that I was remotely, in any way, keen to look sexy for, for
him
.

‘Almost there,’ Edward muttered and rubbed the back of his neck.

See. I was over him completely. No popping candy at the sound of his voice. I didn’t even reply. All I’ll admit to was a slight twist in my stomach. Well, okay – maybe it was a titchy fizz.

‘So, Gemma,’ Edward said quietly, without catching my eye, ‘what can we expect from the Baron – seeing as you’ve already met him?’

‘If you’re a woman, watch out for octopus hands,’ I muttered back.

‘Did he…upset you?’ said Edward.

Blimey, his fists curled. He really didn’t like the opposition.

‘Nah. He’s pretty harmless.’ I pulled a face. ‘Not very subtle about going for what he wants. In any case, I can look after myself.’

A smile flickered across his face before he turned away. The limo turned left and passed through cast iron gates leading to Watermill Nook. The car drove along a huge drive, in between two holes of a golf course. It stopped in front of a swanky red-brick hotel with a flag on its roof and shiny swinging doors. To the right was a narrow building with big windows covered in condensation—obviously a swimming pool. Roxy was waiting for us and waved as I stepped out. It reminded me of the first day I arrived at Applebridge Hall.

‘Quite the heroine, aren’t you?’ said Roxy as she led us all inside and past a swanky marble reception desk and plush armchairs. Porters in maroon suits and caps pushed gold luggage trolleys past. A woman on reception whispered something to her colleague and I was sure they both stared at me for a moment. Then one of them gave me the thumbs-up.

‘I don’t feel like I deserve any cheers,’ I muttered.

‘Haven’t you seen the papers?’ said Roxy.

‘Not all of them were kind.’

She guided me past the fancy reception and a black marble bar towards the lifts, where we waited for the others to catch up.

‘The important ones were,’ she said. ‘Did you see the
Daily News
?’

‘Yeah – the headlines included something about “Stately Shenanigans” and “Gemma’s Ghastly Gamble Failed”.’

‘Well, the Baron’s cousin owns that paper, so don’t worry too much.’ Roxy lowered her voice. ‘Just between you and me, voting since Thursday shows that the result is neck and neck – what with the Castle’s entertaining X-rated celebrity footage versus your moving confession and emotional evacuee reunion.’

At least we weren’t being thrashed. Palms sweaty, I entered the lift with Roxy and everyone else from the limo. It stopped on the fourth floor and Roxy led us along a magnolia corridor and stopped outside a room called The Platinum Suite.

Roxy looked at her watch. ‘Five o’clock. Time for make-up and a drink before the Baron arrives.’

We went in and nodded our hellos to the familiar cameramen and sound guys. It was a massive lounge with two sets of chairs, one to the left and one to the right, all facing ahead, where there was one chair – for Charlie, no doubt – and a big TV screen. I peered left, through to another room. Was that a grand piano?

‘Come on,’ said Roxy and headed that way. The make-up girl stood in there, waiting at a desk littered with eye pencils and foundations. Gaynor chatted to a man with a clipboard, perhaps the director for Marwick Castle. This room led into others—the bedrooms, I think. The décor was mega luxurious, with velvet curtains and margarine-yellow wallpaper. The floor was laminated with oak and mirrors hung all around. Whilst we each waited for the make-up girl to work her magic, we sat down on a white dimpled sofa and sipped yummy filter coffee out of posh cups. Edward borrowed Roxy’s laptop to, no doubt, conscientiously check his blog.

Eventually, we heard loud chat and a voice boom, ‘Any proper drink in this place?’ Cocky as ever, the Baron had arrived. He sauntered into the room, winked at the make-up girl and told her to make him and Harry look like brothers (no one laughed, except him.)

‘Hello, mate,’ he said to the Earl, and held out his hand. A huge ring was squashed onto his little finger and, as his Italian-cut jacket rose up his arm, a shiny gold chain bracelet came into view. He looked around the room. ‘How twee – you’ve brought the staff.’

The Earl didn’t stand up.

‘Come on, matey, you’re not still sore about that business with Nick? All’s fair in love and war.’ The Baron gazed around. ‘It’s great to finally meet the competition. Although I’ve already had the pleasure of your company,’ he said to me and, before I knew it, my hand had received a slimy kiss.

Edward put his laptop to one side for a moment, as if he might punch the competition out.

‘Good on you, little lady,’ continued the Baron. ‘I like a girl with spirit. You ever want a job, just contact me. Once we’ve won this competition, Harry and I will be recruiting at top speed.’ He winked. ‘We’re going to install some lap-dancing poles in the Nightery.’

‘Yeah, babe, knocked out, we were,’ said Harry, ‘about how you fooled the toffs.’

‘I didn’t enjoy fooling them,’ I said, cheeks burning.

‘Course not.’ Harry grinned, his highlighted hair blonder than ever.

‘Damn pity you weren’t confident enough to win, without having to hire a private investigator,’ said the Earl in a gruff voice.

The Baron shrugged. ‘No offence, mate, but you’re clearly no businessman—confidence ain’t the only important quality for success. You need nous and an ability to sniff out the opposition’s weaknesses.’

‘Shot yourself in the foot then, didn’t you?’ said Edward. ‘As, according to the press, Gemma appears to be our strength.’

Wowsers – a compliment. The Baron gave a tight-lipped smile.

‘Don’t count your chickens yet, Lord Edward. Come on, Harry, let’s go schmooze Chingo. See you in front of the cameras, guys,’ he boomed, before putting a shoulder around his son and returning to the lounge.

‘What an appalling man,’ muttered the Earl. Even charitable Lady C failed to come up with anything positive.

‘How are the nerves, lassie?’ asked Kathleen softly.

I smiled. ‘Do you think we stand a chance?’

‘Och aye. Surely the public will see that the Baron is nothing but an eejit.’

At that moment Roxy came in. ‘Please come through and take your seats, everyone,’ she said.

Eek
– it was already quarter to seven. Gaynor led Edward into the lounge. Everyone else followed. Charlie Chingo said his hellos. Us Applebridge Hall lot sat on the left, the Baron and his son on the other side. What saddos, just the two of them, sitting there alone with their egos.